


Towards a Brighter Dawn

by samariumwriting



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-Church Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Slow Burn, Trans Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:47:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28177134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samariumwriting/pseuds/samariumwriting
Summary: Years after Felix vanished at the end of the war, Sylvain calls him back as a mercenary. He has one job for him: protect him during the final peace talks with Sreng, the culmination of years of hard work as Margrave.The success of the job is guaranteed. But getting Felix to stay in his life once all is said and done proves to be more of a challenge.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 14
Kudos: 56
Collections: Sylvix Gift Exchange 2020





	1. Onward to the End

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaaah I am very excited to share this fic! It started as a gift fic just meant to be about post-canon Sylvix figuring out their feelings and spiralled into....this.
> 
> Small content warning note for this chapter: there is some reference to alcohol, but only very light drinking. There's also a reference to (past) character death and mental health issues.

The bells tolled for midday just as Sylvain packed the last of his belongings into his bag, and a feeling he couldn't describe swelled up in his chest.

He was finally doing this. Within the hour, he'd set out to Sreng for the lengthiest set of negotiations held in years. It had no set end date, and only one goal: set up a lasting peace between the their respective nations and ensure that they, their children, and their grandchildren would never see each other on opposite sides of a battlefield.

It was a moment Sylvain had built up to his whole life, perhaps from the first time he heard his father speak the word Sreng followed by some kind of curse. Sylvain couldn't remember what it was, and by this point it didn't matter - all that mattered now was that it would all end.

In the armoury, the Lance of Ruin waited for him. It wouldn't be taken from its place today, and Sylvain quietly hoped it would never move again.

Just as the bells ceased their tolling, Sylvain remembered: the bodyguard he hired for the occasion, a contract to last the whole trip, should have arrived by now. He was told midday on the eighth of the Verdant Rain Moon, and if Sylvain knew anything about the man, he'd be right on time.

He supposed he could say that Felix was also several years late, but that was besides the point right now. Sylvain just felt lucky he'd managed to track down the fabled 'meandering sword' and given him an offer he couldn't refuse.

Sure enough, Felix stood in the courtyard, horse at his side, waiting for Sylvain's approach. "Felix!" he called, dispensing of any title or surname. He knew enough about what happened in Fraldarius to know that Felix wouldn't be amenable to that, and he'd already asked a lot of him by requesting his presence here. "You look... great."

It was a lie; Felix looked like shit. Sylvain hadn't been able to see from afar, but now he was up close… there were dark shadows under Felix's eyes, and his hair was shorter and choppier than it had been during the war. He still hadn't managed to grow a beard, and there were several scars on his face Sylvain didn't recognise.

"Keep it professional," Felix said. There was a warning in his tone.

"Or what?" Sylvain asked, bringing his hands up behind his head. The gesture felt strange after so long of abandoning the act of carefree young man, but it felt sort of natural to slip back into it around an old friend. "You'll quit?"

"I will," Felix grumbled. There was a scowl on his face that Sylvain suspected was perpetual. "And that’ll leave you with no one to go on your fool's quest with."

"It's not a fool's quest," Sylvain said firmly. "It's a diplomatic negotiation, and it also happens to be a very lucrative job in the middle of a country of fearsome warriors. You're not going to quit."

Felix huffed, looking away from Sylvain's face. He scuffed the toe of his boot against the courtyard's stone. "Perhaps you're right," he said. "It would be foolish of me to quit before we've even begun. But I'm not above changing my mind if you don't hurry up."

With that, he shot Sylvain an expectant stare, and Sylvain laughed. Felix didn’t. Sylvain hadn't expected him to join in, but it felt awkward anyway. "Sure thing, Felix," he said. He was fairly sure Felix was lying, but he didn't want to risk it.

It had been a decade since they'd last seen each other, and Felix had changed. He didn't know how much yet, but it was clear enough already. Sylvain wasn't willing to push it.

* * *

The journey out to Sreng was expected to be long and difficult, even though they didn't have the difficulty of providing for a large group of soldiers like those travelling north in ages past. As such, they were both on horseback, riding strong, sturdy horses that could manage daily travel at their slow pace.

It also meant that there was a lot of time for just the two of them, even before they arrived in Sreng and the negotiations began. But Felix had never been the chattiest person around, and there was a lot Sylvain wanted to know about everything that had happened while they were apart. He just didn't want to say the wrong thing and bring it all tumbling down.

"So!" he said, taking one hand off the reins and sweeping it across the landscape before them. Felix looked out and then back at him, apparently entirely unimpressed. "Riding on horseback together. Just like old times, eh?"

Felix rolled his eyes, and Sylvain's heart sank in his chest. He hadn't  _ thought  _ Felix was the type to mellow out in old age, but he ruled that out entirely now. "Yeah," he replied. "Just like old times, when we rode to war to kill our old classmates."

Ouch. Yeah, Felix was right, but he didn't need to say it like that. Didn't need to say it in a way that put him right back in Ailell with his lance embedded deep in Ashe's chest.

Sylvain just grimaced and tried to cover it up with a laugh. "That wasn't the old time I meant," he lied. "I meant like when we were kids."

"Like that's any better," Felix shot back. "When we were kids, when I had to ride like a girl with my legs on one side of the horse. When we spent all our time with..." At this, it was his turn to raise his hand, fingers splayed. "My father, my brother,  _ your  _ brother, Ingrid, and the boar." With each name, he put a finger down. "They're all dead."

Okay, ouch. Now that one was entirely unnecessary, but it sure as Ailell sent a message: Felix didn't want to talk right now. 

They stayed silent for the rest of the ride that day, listening only to the birds that flew overhead and the crunch of snow beneath the horses’ feet. Sylvain wanted to say it was a companionable silence, silent simply because neither of them needed to say anything, but it wasn't. It was just awkward.

And it remained awkward as the light faded from the sky and they pulled the horses to a stop, setting up a meagre camp to rest until morning. Felix didn't say a word when they ate, not even to thank him as Sylvain passed the food over, and only opened his mouth when they were done.

"I'll take most of the watch overnight," he said.

"I'm no stranger to doing it," Sylvain objected. Sure, Felix was here as his bodyguard, but that didn't mean he was there to do  _ everything. _ "I can do a bit."

_ "I'm  _ not out of practise," Felix shot back. As he spoke, his eyes roamed up and down Sylvain's hunched form. "You look like you're about to pass out. Just sleep already."

"Aww, Felix, I didn't realise you cared!" If this was a decade ago, he would have hooked an arm around Felix's shoulders here. Maybe he would have even ruffled his hair. Instead, his arms hung limply at his sides.

"I don't get paid if you die," Felix replied, his voice sharp and cold. "I don't care otherwise."

For what must have been the fourth or fifth time that day, something hot prickled in the back of Sylvain's throat. When they fought in the war together, he and Felix were inseparable. One night, Felix had whispered to Sylvain that he felt like the world was falling apart whenever Sylvain wasn't nearby.

He supposed it had been foolish to hope for a return to that closeness when Felix had been away for so long, but the words rang true, and they  _ hurt. _

But Sylvain didn't say that. Instead, he went to bed, and in the morning they repeated the whole song and dance all over again. He and Felix operated in near silence, day in and day out, travelling with only brief intervals for Sylvain to open his mouth and get immediately shut down, no matter what he said.

Sylvain wasn't surprised. This was Felix, and Felix always added bite to his words. There was an edge to everything he said and did that only sharpened with time, and Sylvain didn't like being on the receiving end of it.

At the same time, he was aware that there was nothing he could really do about it. If this was who Felix was now, all anger and edges, wielding the pain of the past as a weapon, then Sylvain couldn't do much about it.

Felix would just have to put up with the way he felt about the past, too.

* * *

"Margrave Gautier!" the town's head greeted, almost the moment he and Felix made their way into town. "It's good to see you again. I trust you've been well?"

Sylvain smiled. "Of course," he said. "Though all the better now we have the chance to speak again. It's been too long, and letters just aren't the same!"

Sylvain liked the man; he liked a lot of the people who laid claim to power in Sreng, actually. Their fluid governing system meant that ease of communication was a vital trait, and as such all of them were at least decent to be around.

It also meant that, at these negotiations, there was a lot for people to say, and a lot of reunions Sylvain had to deal with. Everyone wanted to bend his ear for something or other, whether to tell him about their children, their territory, or the joke they played on one of the other town's heads.

It was a good start to the negotiations, in all honesty. Seeing them so pleased to see him was encouraging, and it boded well for what was to come. Sylvain didn't like it when there were personal tensions left hanging in the air, so this worked just fine for him.

Unfortunately, Felix didn't hold quite the same perspective. Maybe Sylvain should have expected it, from the events they attended together as children; Felix always scowled his way through them, his movement restricted by skirts he'd always hated wearing. He didn't wear anything he hadn't chosen now, but he still frowned.

Sylvain supposed that Felix hadn't been paid to do any diplomacy. He was there to be Sylvain's shadow through all of this, and his sword and shield if needed. Those were the terms of the agreement, but… Felix was a very rude shadow.

He didn't speak any of the language, and Sylvain hadn't expected him to. If that was necessary, he would have hired someone who lived closer to the border, or even someone from Sreng itself; he wouldn't have worried about conflicting loyalties. In fact, he wasn't worried about his safety at all, but the various Srengi governors had insisted he bring some protection.

The lack of language shared made communication difficult, but everyone knew what glares meant. "Your bodyguard clearly does not like the ale," one woman commented, and laughter chorused around her; Felix's rudeness had gone unnoticed by exactly no one. "I’ve never seen a sourer face."

Sylvain tried to laugh it off. "It's his job to look scary," he said.

"I sincerely hope he doesn't use his position - and license to act as he pleases - to do anything you would regret," another warned. Their tone was well-meaning rather than tense, but undeniably serious.

Sylvain understood the perspective, but he was confident it wasn't something any of them needed to worry about. This was  _ Felix.  _ "He's very loyal," he answered. "We go way back - do you remember the war?"

"It happened beyond our borders, but we could not forget it," the man sitting opposite him said. "Did you know him then?"

Sylvain nodded. "We fought side by side. His principles are unmatched; he will not do anything untoward. That's why I hired him."

When he glanced back at Felix, the man scowled. He couldn't have understood a word of the conversation, but he must have known it was about him - there was no mistaking the way that so many eyes turned to him in the course of only a few exchanges.

As the socialising wound down for the night, filled with the promise of a bright and early start to negotiations the following morning, Felix drew close on their way to Sylvain's quarters. "What did you say about me?" he demanded.

For a moment, Sylvain considered lying. He could tell Felix that it was nothing - someone had asked if he was from Adrestia, perhaps, or commented on the scarring on his face. But he didn't think he  _ could  _ lie to Felix. Not anymore. "I told them you were loyal and principled," he said. "They were worried that your glares and sword meant more than protection, and that you'd disobey our contract."

Felix snorted. "You told them things about me that you don't know for certain," he said.

Sylvain's heart stuttered for a moment. There was a dangerous glint to Felix's eyes, one he'd been trying to ignore on their whole journey here. He wanted to believe, but... "Was I right?" he asked.

"You'll have to find out."

Sylvain laughed, but his blood went cold at the thought. That and the low, dangerous note to Felix's tone told him that it was a threat. He didn't know what to make of it.

Things didn't get any better over the next few days - in fact, Felix's attitude started to grate a little. He was rude and never even attempted to talk to the various Srengi around town, not even when they spoke to him in his own language. Sylvain spent way too much time apologising for Felix's lack of social skills, and each time he had to remind himself that he wasn't on a time limit. Felix could fuck up all he liked.

Sylvain tried to be fine with it, but it was hard. He spent most of his time with Felix. Or, rather, Felix spent all his time with Sylvain; he ate with him, because Felix had no one else to eat with. They made conversation occasionally, because otherwise Felix would never speak to anyone.

And it hurt, because Felix was different. It wasn't just that he was sharper or angrier than the man he once knew; he was more... desperate than Sylvain remembered. Everything was done with a sense of urgency, and his hand drifted to the pommel of his sword more often than not. He also had at least three other knives on him; Sylvain had seen them. There were probably more he hadn't.

Considering when Sylvain last spent time with Felix, it was sad to see that he was somehow  _ more  _ desperate and lonely when there wasn't a war on. Sylvain had spent so much time focused on his own life and goals that, when he decided to hire Felix for this job, he only thought of reunion - he hadn't even considered that Felix was doing badly in the life he'd chosen for himself.

Sylvain didn't know what to do about it - if he could even do anything. He just hoped he could fix  _ something,  _ because the way Felix acted... it wasn't right. It wasn't him.

* * *

"Hey Felix." Maybe he'd drunk a little too much mead, and maybe this was a bad idea. But watching Felix, half curled into his cup next to the fire, made him feel something he couldn't describe. "Are you doing okay?"

Felix spluttered into his drink. Sylvain didn't know why he practically nursed it like that - it wasn't alcoholic. He'd asked Sylvain to specifically communicate that when the mugs started being passed around. "What kind of question is that?" he demanded.

"A genuine one."

Felix's grip on his cup tightened. "It shouldn't be."

"If you say so," he said with a shrug, trying to relax his posture a little. He didn't want Felix worrying too much. "Is there something wrong with the mead, by the way? I thought it was good, and I'm really not a mead kind of guy."

"You're more a wine person," Felix said, and Sylvain would have been flattered that he remembered if it wasn't for how Felix managed to make it sound like an insult. "I don't drink anymore. It dulls the senses." He looked down into his cup, his voice lowering even more. Sylvain didn't know if he was meant to hear the rest, but he did anyway. "It does things to my mind I don't like."

"I get it," Sylvain said, offering Felix a smile. He didn't return it. "I'm sorry for prying. It's none of my business."

"You  _ should  _ apologise," Felix shot back. He looked down again, breaking their momentary eye contact. "It's alright. I don't mind."

A part of Sylvain wanted to stand on a rooftop and cheer. The rest of him knew that wouldn't help at all. "It's fine if you're not okay, you know," he said. "You've been through a lot."

Felix's voice sounded slightly choked when he replied. "This again?" he asked.

"This again."

Felix exhaled sharply. "I went through no more than anyone else in that stupid war."

It wasn't true. Sylvain was there when the news about the Battle at Gronder came in. He watched the way Felix's face went ash grey at the knowledge that Dimitri was dead. Damn, he held Felix's hair when he sprinted to the cliff's edge and threw up over the wall separating them from the ravine below.

Sylvain hadn't felt like that.

But he couldn't say that. It wouldn't help to argue with him. "Everyone went through that," he said instead. "I don't think everyone is okay, either."

Felix's eyes met his across the fire, the flickering flames reflecting against a shared understanding: Felix wasn't as alone as he thought.

His gaze fell, and Sylvain forced out a tiny laugh. "I'm working on it," Sylvain said. "If I find some magical way to be completely happy again after losing my childhood, I'll let you know."

Felix's returning laugh was almost impossibly bitter. He sounded even more tired than Sylvain felt.

* * *

Somehow, their disaster of a conversation when Sylvain was the tiniest bit tipsy actually improved things. Felix's presence turned from one that grated on everyone all the time to one that grated on most people some of the time - a welcome change.

At the same time, Sylvain grew more accustomed to Felix's presence at his side. They'd been apart for a long time, much longer than he liked, and when they came back together he feared it would never feel the same again. But the silences between them weren't quite so awkward anymore, and Felix's glares didn't prickle at the back of his neck.

It was nice. Sylvain was glad for it, that they could still change after so long.

It clearly wasn't something the Srengi leaders had expected either - after a few days of Felix no longer glaring at them at all hours and one half-successful conversation with someone in the marketplace, someone commented on it.

"I have to ask," she said, letting out a booming laugh as she began. When she glanced at Felix, Sylvain felt his heart sink a little. "How did you get the stick out of his arse?"

Her comment was met with a chorus of laughter, and Sylvain took a moment to consider his reply. Felix would ask him about this later, and he still wouldn’t have the heart to lie to him. "I'm still working on it," he said.

More laughter, this time even more widespread. The woman who'd first spoken up leaned over to her companion and whispered something in his ear; more laughter, this time long and loud, accompanied by a gesture that couldn't be mistaken.

Sylvain swallowed. Sometimes he did miss a little of the nuance in Srengi, even after all this time, and to get a reaction like that he must have said the wrong thing. Whatever they thought now, he hoped Felix wouldn't mind too much. To patch up any damage he could, he shot Felix, just behind him as always, an apologetic smile.

Felix scowled, gesturing at Sylvain to redirect his focus back to the negotiations. Sylvain smiled again and turned back to the rest of the table, where the laughter had finally died down. Hopefully it would just blow over and everything could be fine; talking about Felix behind his back didn’t feel right.

"I'm sorry," he told Felix later that night. Led with it even, pretty much the moment he stepped away from the negotiation table. "For earlier."

Felix's scowl was pretty much the same as before, but it carried a slightly softer note now. "For what?" he asked.

"They were talking about you," he explained.

"I gathered."

Sylvain laughed, hoping he didn't sound too nervous. "Yeah, well one of them said you seemed a little less crabby. And when I said we were working on it - which we're not, I just needed to say something - they all laughed."

Felix scoffed. "They think you're fucking me," he said, like that was something simple and easy you could just  _ say  _ in a conversation. Damn it.

For a moment, the childish part of Sylvain nearly asked Felix if they  _ were  _ fucking. Maybe he'd throw in a wink, too, like he was still twenty five and dodging death every day. But he wasn't twenty five, not anymore, and even the thought of suggesting something like that made him die a little inside. "Ah. Oops."

Felix blinked, staring at him for a moment, and Sylvain was half convinced he'd said the wrong thing. Instead, Felix's perpetual frown loosened into something more neutral. "You've changed a lot."

Sylvain very nearly let out a noise of surprise. There was no other way to put it; from Felix, that was a compliment. He'd always berated Sylvain for the way he was in the past, so this... this meant Felix liked parts of him now.

He managed to cover up the way it made him feel (excited, but also so afraid) pretty well, but it still stuck with him. It was a good feeling, made even better by Felix sticking around for the rest of the evening. It was what he did every night, but it felt different this time. Easy, in a way he hadn't found anything in a long time.

* * *

It took weeks of hashing out agreements, countless long nights working through the minutiae of trade deals, and far, far too many cups of mead, but eventually it was done. Sreng and Faerghus signed a lasting peace treaty, set to govern their people's relations for a hundred years at least.

It felt good. It felt so fucking good that when Sylvain signed that treaty, he cried. His whole life was spent building up to this moment. Every time he fell asleep with his head in a book of Srengi, every night he burnt his candle into nothingness drafting letters, every disapproving word from his father, every connection forged. All of it.

It was the best moment of Sylvain's life. It was everything. It was his crowning achievement, the deed that would get his name into a history record or two. It was the best thing he ever could have done with his existence, and it would save and enrich countless lives.

Yet when the ink was dry and Sylvain's tears had run their course, he felt hollow. What came next?

It was, just as he'd said so many times before, his life's aim. It was the thing he strove towards when all his friends were dead and gone, when Felix vanished like a whisper in the wind. And now it was done. Complete. He had no idea what he aimed for from here.

He knew what  _ happened  _ next, of course. He'd ride home alongside Felix and be greeted by a huge celebration. People would shout his name from their houses before parading in the streets. His household would put on a huge feast for everyone in the town. Maybe Felix would stay, maybe he would go, but either way Sylvain would go back to governing a now peaceful territory.

Tax records, educational programmes, trade deals. Paperwork and letters and a hundred nobles he didn't want to interact with at all, all crowding at his door to get a chance at sharing in his glory. They'd push their daughters through the door and hope that Sylvain would choose one of them. Same old story, the same song and dance.

He didn't want it. Honestly, he couldn't think of anything worse.

But he couldn't say that, not when everyone was celebrating. Couldn't say that he didn't  _ want  _ peace, because he did, he just... Sylvain shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts a little. He didn't know what he wanted - he just knew that he didn't like what came next.

He was knocked out of his spiral once more by Felix, knocking his fist gently against the side of Sylvain's head. Sylvain blinked. "You're thinking too much," Felix said. "What's going on up there in the clouds?"

The fond note in his voice nearly had Sylvain tripping over his words. Instead, he opened his mouth and hoped for the best. "I was wondering what you were going to do next," he said. "You know, once we go back to Fódlan."

Felix's expression turned tight. "I'm not going back to Fódlan," he said. Sylvain’s heart seized. "Our contract was to protect you on the way here and during the negotiations, because your return was guaranteed to be safe."

The way he said it was cold and practised in a way a lot of things Felix said never were; he'd thought about this. Planned it, even. But he hadn't said a word until now, when he spoke them in a way that made Sylvain go numb from his fingertips right to his chest.

He felt the tiniest bit like he'd been stabbed, but he hadn't. He wanted to ask Felix how long he'd planned it, if he'd ever considered telling him before now, if he was willing to stay in touch or maybe visit or  _ anything.  _ Anything at all.

But the distance between them was still too great, and Sylvain knew he couldn't say any of that. So he forced his mouth into a twisted smile, let out a half-hearted laugh, and said: "So you never intended to collect the rest of your payment, huh?"

"I didn't," Felix admitted. He wouldn't meet Sylvain's eyes or even come close to it, his eyes fixed firmly on his feet. "But it's like you said. I have principles, and I'm a man of my word. I always intended to keep you alive."

And with that, he spun on his heel and walked off through the snow to join the impromptu celebration that had started up, leaving Sylvain alone.

Sylvain wasn't surprised. He always got left alone in the end.

* * *

The next few days were dominated by celebrations, just as everyone planned - Sylvain included. And, in truth, there was a lot of fun to it; Sylvain liked drinking with people he was proud to call his friends, and there was the weight of achievement in the air. He'd caused this, and that should have made him happy.

But he couldn't be. Each moment of the celebration brought him closer to his time of departure, and as his departure got closer, so did Felix's.

Felix, who didn't smile at any of the celebrations, but didn't seem sad either. Felix, who sipped a cider over the course of a whole day and didn't seem to hate it. Felix, who Sylvain couldn't tear his eyes away from. The thought of him vanishing once more, this time  _ truly  _ gone forever, tore him up inside.

Once, Sylvain took pride in having a lot of connections. There were the Golden Deer students he spoke with at the Academy - some of them had survived the war, and became useful allies. There were all his former classmates from the Black Eagles, who he had the privilege of knowing and fighting alongside.

The ones who survived the war were still around, but plenty hadn't made it. Marianne disappeared a few years in, taking her beautiful smile with her. Lysithea perished at Gronder, as did Raphael and Hilda. Claude vanished soon afterwards, which left only a handful of the Deer still around. Edelgard and Hubert died, of course.

Ingrid and Dimitri died at Gronder too. One day they were alive in his mind, and the next they were gone. When Sylvain was young, there was the group of six of them - Miklan and Glenn included, because there had to be teens around somewhere with all the adventures they got up to - now only he and Felix remained. Since the war, the number of people he knew and loved dwindled rapidly, and even the dying flicker of affection that occasionally sparked in his heart at the thought of his father was buried with his ashes now.

It was just Felix. Just him and Felix, no one and nothing else. The thought of losing that, once and for all... it was unbearable.

The truth of it hung over him like a shroud through the celebrations. He didn't want Felix to go, and he didn't want to go home without Felix. He wasn't convinced it  _ could  _ be home again, not now he'd had a taste of Felix back in his life. A part of him just wanted to cling to the fleeting feeling of companionship and never let go, but he couldn't do that to Felix. Couldn't force him to stay just for his feelings.

And that was when it occurred to him: he couldn't and wouldn't make Felix stay. But he couldn't make himself stay in Gautier either; no one could. He was a free man, with no obligations - or aims - to tie him down. From there, the way forward seemed easy.

On the final day of the celebrations, Felix found it hard to sit still. Sylvain asked him to stay, just until the end, and he was half surprised that he  _ had.  _ Sylvain watched all through the day as Felix flitted from place to place, never settling in one conversation for too long. He was restless and wanted to move on. Sylvain felt the same.

"Felix, mind if we talk a moment?" Sylvain gestured towards the edge of the little town where they'd spent the last moon. Everyone was in the centre, making the most of one final feast before all the lords left, taking their money with them.

Normally, Sylvain would have expected Felix to reply with something to the effect of 'we talk all the time' before he accepted. Instead, he just nodded sharply, standing from his chair and moving towards the outskirts of town. Sylvain followed, nervousness jumping in his chest.

"So, what did you want?" Felix asked, tapping his foot. "I hope you're not going to ask me to come back with you, because I'll say no."

"I'm not," Sylvain replied. He took a deep breath. "I'm coming with you. To join you on your travels beyond Fódlan. Beyond Sreng."

Felix looked at him like he'd gone mad. "You're joking," he said. Sylvain shook his head. "You-" Felix turned back to face the town, waving his hand toward it. "You did something amazing here. You've achieved something incredible over the past few years, and when you return to Gautier, you'll get a hero's welcome. You'll be remembered for generations."

Sylvain let out a laugh. "So you do think amazing things can be done without a sword in hand, huh?" he asked.

Felix scoffed. "You're avoiding the question."

"I am. So are you."

"Fine," Felix snapped. "Yes, you can do great things without a weapon. Now tell me why you don't want the credit."

"You could get the credit too, if you returned with me," Sylvain pointed out. "A hero's welcome in Gautier. You could be the eccentric, wayward Fraldarius heir, no one questioning your place because you brought peace home from Sreng."

Felix's laugh was hollow. "Why on earth would I ever want that?"

Sylvain snapped his fingers. "Exactly," he said. "So now you see why I don't want to return?"

"I don't," Felix said with a grumble, "and I definitely don't see why you might want to come with me. Do you even care about moons-long treks through Sreng and all the lands beyond?"

"If I decide I don't like it, I'll just turn back," Sylvain said with a shrug. He honestly hadn't thought that far yet, because anything at all would be better than returning to Gautier. "May as well see what the world beyond Fódlan is like until I make that decision."

"Why now?" Felix shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other; Sylvain was managing to wear him down, he could tell. He'd agree with time.

"May as well do it with you," he said, and his voice came out softer than intended.

Felix looked away. "Fine," he said. His voice was tight. He didn't sound pleased, but... he didn't sound displeased either. Sylvain thought that was a pretty good start.

It was easy from there. Felix had already prepared most of what he needed, and Sylvain already had the supplies for a trip all the way back to Gautier. It wasn't hard to trade some of his noble finery for some boots better suited for travelling, extra water skins, and a whole lot of food. It'd last them a while, and then they'd work out how to hunt and earn.

It was refreshing, to think of a future where maybe not everything would be handed to him on a platter. It would be him and Felix against the wilds, and it was exciting in a way he couldn't quite put into words.

As Felix made his last purchases, Sylvain sat down inside his temporary residence one final time, pulled out a piece of parchment, and began to write.

'Dear Gautier staff, and to whomever this may concern.   
I, Margrave Sylvain Jose Gautier, hereby resign from my position as Margrave. This letter brings you news of a successfully signed treaty with Sreng, which I hope shall stand the test of time.

Peace with Sreng has been a lifelong aim of mine, and it fills my heart with joy to see it come to pass. However, as it has done so, my position in Gautier is no longer quite so appealing. Perhaps it is foolish of me - I can certainly imagine my father turning in his grave even thinking of me stepping down - but I feel this is the right thing to do.

I apologise for not returning. Please hold any celebration you had planned without me, and don't bother to leave a seat free! I have given Gautier everything I wanted to. So please, use it as you see fit.

Ever thinking of each and every one of you,   
Former Margrave Sylvain Jose Gautier.'

It was short; perhaps too short, but Sylvain found he didn't really care. This was for the people of Gautier, and they didn't need him anymore.  _ He _ didn't need them. So it was better this way, and far better than returning and resigning only to find Felix long gone.

He sealed the letter with his personal stamp and went to find the Fódlans messenger. She was waiting to leave with the full terms of the treaty, set to arrive in Gautier ahead of Sylvain; an extra letter couldn't hurt.

She smiled with a curious glint in her eyes when Sylvain handed it over, but didn't ask for its contents. Maybe she'd read them on the way; it wasn't like she could incur his wrath if she did. Or maybe there was a grave look on his face, and she'd simply decided that asking wasn't worth it.

Either way, the whole business was blissfully out of his hands now. With everything done and a huge weight off his shoulders (literally, because his official cape was very heavy and entirely useless for travelling), he returned to Felix's side.

Felix already stood by their horses, shifting impatiently as he waited. Sylvain's horse carried a little more than Felix's, but they were clearly both fully stocked up for however long their supplies lasted. Sylvain mounted, kicking his horse into a walk, and Felix followed soon afterwards.

"Wait," Felix said, just as they reached the outskirts of the town. Sylvain pulled his horse to a stop, turning to him; Felix carefully avoided his gaze. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," he answered immediately. There was no doubt.

Felix nodded, his face just as unsmiling as ever. "Let's go, then."

"Let's go," he echoed. And on they went, into the snow and the boundless future awaiting them.


	2. The Cold of the Wilds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain and Felix travel on through Sreng. It's not easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warning for this chapter that there's some strong insensitivity towards physical ability (stamina) that could be seen as ableist, as well as discussion of poor health and references to past character death
> 
> This chapter now features [art](https://twitter.com/nikobynight/status/1351621273542144007?s=20) by @nikobynight!

From the moment they set out, Sylvain felt freer than he had in years. He could take deep lungfuls of air and not worry about whether someone would tell him it made him look strange. He could look around in wonder and not risk coming off as naive. He could do whatever he wanted, and it was wonderful.

There was a drawback to the freedom, of course - they hadn't planned where they were going. Felix had no map of the local area, and Sylvain didn't have one of anything beyond the town they'd just left. With nothing to tie them down, no deadlines or expectations and no guide, it was easy to get lost.

Within a day, they had no idea where they were, but Sylvain couldn't bring himself to care. He had enough basic navigation skills to know that they were travelling northeast, and that was all he needed. So long as it got them away from Faerghus, it was perfect.

What _wasn't_ perfect was the way Sylvain felt at the start of every day, and how it worsened as the hours progressed; his muscles hurt. A lot.

He'd known, before they set out, that he wasn't in the same kind of shape he was when they were younger. They used to ride for days on end to their next destination during the war, and Sylvain had once seen two sunrises without a break on the back of the same horse. But he was older now, and riding wasn't quite as easy as it used to be.

The trip out to Sreng hadn't been too bad - Sylvain called for regular breaks, and as Felix's employer he was entitled to. But now it was just the two of them, and Felix clearly had a set amount of ground he wanted to cover every day; he didn't take any prisoners, either, and Sylvain felt the tiniest bit like he was dying.

Within a week, the constant travel was taking its toll, and as the sun hit its peak, half of Sylvain's body was nearly numb with pain. His back ached like nothing else, his calves felt like they were going to explode, and even blinking hurt when the droplets of snow frozen on his eyelashes hit his cheeks. He needed to stop, but Felix soldiered on, clearly not noticing (or perhaps just not caring about) his struggles.

Eventually, Sylvain caved; his lungs felt like they were about to burst in his chest. "Can we stop for a break?" he asked. Ouch, even speaking hurt.

Felix huffed, looking him up and down with an expression that could only be described as derisive. Something sank in Sylvain's chest. "Fine," he said, eventually. "We can stop."

It helped, for a little while - the half day off meant that his muscles got the chance to rest, and on waking the next morning he ached, but there was none of the stabbing pain from the day before. His thighs were bruised from spending too long in the saddle, but it wasn't anything that meant he couldn't ride.

It stayed like that for a few days, but still got progressively worse. Felix, didn't seem to have any difficulties, in spite of how much he’d hated riding for most of their lives. He kept going like there were no obstacles between him and the world around them, and Sylvain felt weak. Pathetic.

Each afternoon brought new aches and pains, with parts of his body seizing up in a way they never had before. He asked for breaks occasionally, and Felix almost always granted them, but they didn't really help. And then, when the day of their third week of travelling dawned, Sylvain was in so much pain he could barely breathe. Sitting in the saddle all day was unthinkable.

Honestly, Sylvain struggled even to sit up; it was like a heavy weight had settled on his chest. "Can we... take a day?" he asked. Ow, his back hurt too. Felix looked on, unimpressed. "Or just a morning. Just so I can get a bit more rest."

Felix turned away. "No, stop acting like an old man," he said. "It's your fault you're out of shape like this. You shouldn't have spent so many years sitting on your ass."

Ah, so that was how it was going to be. If Felix was going to talk to him like _this..._ well, Sylvain had no choice but to respond in kind. "At least _I_ settled down a little," he shot back. "You're in your late thirties and you're still acting like some sulky teenager, believing that you and everyone can just take on the world if you try hard enough. Haven't you learned that doesn't work yet?"

"Stop acting like a child just because you can't face the truth." As he spoke, Felix started pacing a short perimeter around their camp. Goddess, Sylvain didn't know if it was reassuring or deeply sad that he recognised the way Felix was acting from their childhood.

"Well excuse me," Sylvain replied, "but I thought you just called me an old man a moment ago."

"No," Felix shot back, but Sylvain recognised that pent up frustration from getting something wrong in his tone anywhere. "You're just a child who can't face the idea of having responsibility or making judgements. Get up off your ass and get on the horse."

Goddess, that insult was rich coming from Felix. "No," Sylvain replied simply. He lowered himself back to the ground. He wasn't going anywhere, not with Felix treating him like this.

Felix waited for a moment in complete silence. Sylvain didn't dare look at his face, a little afraid of the fury he'd find there. Eventually, Felix let out a frustrated noise, followed by the sounds of boots crunching in the snow.

Regret stabbed at Sylvain's chest; maybe he shouldn't have said all of that. Or maybe he should have, because it wasn't like Felix apologised for being so rude, for acting like Sylvain was some kind of burden. Maybe Felix _needed_ someone to treat him like shit, because he sure as Ailell hadn't learned that it didn't get him anywhere before now.

Sylvain laid there for a long time, staring up at the sky and willing the fatigue gnawing at his bones to just go away. The force of it made him feel ill, and lying down didn't help, but getting up didn't feel possible. He just hurt.

He slipped in and out of sleep for hours, probably, his body feeling a little more rested but still aching each time he woke. At some point, when the sun was already setting below the trees, Felix returned. He watched Sylvain with pursed lips and turned away without a word.

No apology, then, but something else: as Felix turned, he sat down heavily at the fire, taking a knife to the rabbit he'd clearly just hunted. "Will you be able to get up?" he called over his shoulder. It didn't sound like a judgement.

"Give me a minute," he managed. He was pretty sure he could make it.

It took a while, but eventually Sylvain managed to push himself up off the ground and shakily sit down next to Felix at the fire. By the time he arrived, Felix had cut the rabbit into chunks, roasting them on the fire. He handed a mostly finished skewer over to Sylvain when he arrived. "Eat," he said. "You should build strength for tomorrow."

"Thanks." Sylvain accepted it, and Felix shot him a look he couldn't quite fathom. It wasn't quite warm and definitely wasn't fond, but it was something. Regret tinged with something Sylvain couldn't recognise formed on Felix's face.

It wasn't an apology, but Felix never had been good at those. It was close enough.

* * *

"Agh- fuck!" That was the only warning Sylvain received before he heard a thump followed by a splash. His head shot up, his gaze searching the stream in front of him, only to see-

Felix, who just a moment ago told Sylvain he was going to refill their water skins—ignoring Sylvain's warning about the icy rocks with a short tut—was on his ass in the stream, sopping wet and absolutely furious.

There was only one thing Sylvain could think to do: laugh. He looked like a wet cat, his hair stuck to his face and his mouth twisted into a truly impressive frown. "What the _fuck_ are you laughing at, asshole?" Felix asked, but Sylvain knew very well what Felix sounded like when he was angry; this wasn't it.

"You," Sylvain replied simply, making sure Felix could see the full extent of his grin. Felix noticeably rolled his eyes and stood, shaking his head to get the worst of the dampness out of his hair as he emerged from the stream. "You want to stop? That looks pretty cold."

"Why don't you go in and find out?" Felix shot back, reaching his hands threateningly towards Sylvain; his arms didn't even reach Sylvain's waist when he was on horseback.

"I'm good, thanks," Sylvain said, stopping short of dismounting. Just in case Felix decided to stick to his word. "Seriously, though, you must be cold. Let's get a fire going."

"Fine," Felix said, glancing around for the closest spot sheltered enough to settle down for the day. "I need to get these wet clothes off, so just-"

"Yeah, yeah, of course," Sylvain replied, turning his back and pulling some of their pre-dried firewood from his horse's pack. Felix was still pretty shy about the way he looked, even now when they had no choice but to bathe in some kind of proximity. He always hid himself.

Felix drew close to the brightly burning fire once he was done, his limbs gravitating towards its warmth. Sylvain knew well the effect of cold water, especially with a shock like that, so he went back over to his pack and pulled out a couple of blankets.

Felix scowled at him when he approached, looking at Sylvain a little like he'd grown a second head; hopefully Felix wasn't _actually_ seeing double, or they were in a much worse position than he thought. Ignoring Felix's clear objection, he laid the blankets down around his shoulders.

"I don't need them," Felix said, attempting to shake Sylvain's offering away. Sylvain kept his hands there, waiting until Felix stopped wriggling to settle them down around his body again.

"You'll catch a chill otherwise," Sylvain reminded him, like neither of them knew how deadly the cold could be.

"I know plenty about cold weather and survival, thanks," Felix grumbled. He hadn't quite settled down, but Sylvain was sure he would. Felix was always fond of putting up token resistance.

"And _I_ know plenty about you," Sylvain shot back. Felix wilted slightly. "If I don't insist on this, you'll just push on, and then we'll run the risk of only having one of us fighting fit at once. You’re not in a mercenary group anymore, you know."

"I know," Felix admitted, his voice still tinged with the tiniest bit of spite. Even as he spoke, though, he pulled the blankets closer around himself and settled down next to the fire.

"Mind if I take the first watch?" Sylvain asked. Felix usually did it, but he looked so comfortable. Sylvain wanted him to get as much rest as possible, and he hoped Felix realised how much he might need it.

"Fine," Felix replied. "Do what you want." An acceptance, then; especially as Felix drifted off to sleep not long afterwards. He dropped off faster than Sylvain remembered, or maybe that was just the exhaustion of the day, and he looked-

Okay, Sylvain should not have been looking at Felix while he fell asleep. But he couldn't help it; it was intoxicating, almost, to see how at peace he looked. Sylvain had seen him asleep many times, but now...

Felix was always so tense. Even when Sylvain took the second watch, when he glanced over at Felix's resting form, Felix's eyebrows would be furrowed. Now, he just looked like he was at peace. His face had smoothed out, and his eyelids didn't flicker with restless dreams. He breathed deeply, evenly.

He still looked old and tired, sure. Older than his years, certainly. But at least he looked at rest. Sylvain looked into the fire for a moment, but he couldn't keep his eyes off Felix for long, nor off his half-dried hair, fluffy and getting longer, or the way the firelight played off his cheekbones.

Sylvain hoped they could be more like this, going forwards. It was nice.

* * *

"Hey Felix," Sylvain said, raising his voice above the sound of horse's hooves just as the sun started to dip in the sky "Any chance we could stop early today? I could use a rest."

Felix had been better about it lately, not using such pointed words when Sylvain needed a break. Still, Sylvain expected something sharp to leave his mouth when he opened it. "The trees are thinning up ahead," Felix said instead. "Maybe we could go out there for a bit."

Sylvain nodded, and they crossed the rest of the short distance in silence. There were a lot of silences between them still, but they'd gradually become a little more comfortable.

Felix's intuition about it being a good place to stop for now was correct - the trees opened out onto a cliff, and far below them lay the sea, as dark and beautiful as always. The breeze was a little strong, and their horses were glad to be left under the cover of the forest. It wouldn't be much use for sleeping, but for resting... it was perfect.

They settled down, a small fire burning between them, and within an hour of watching the waves, endlessly crashing against the beach, the sun set in earnest. It stained the sky red, the waves below reflecting a little of the light. The sand below, too, seemed to glow with the dull warmth of evening.

"It's beautiful," Sylvain murmured, mostly to himself.

"We've seen plenty," Felix said. He was right, of course - they'd spent nights together as children, fighting to stay awake for a summer sunset, and then watched them through the Academy's windows as teenagers. They'd seen blood red light reflecting off eerily similar pools on battlefields. "This one isn't that different."

"Maybe, but-"

"I know," Felix said, cutting him off. Sylvain turned to him, but Felix wasn't looking back. He was looking at the sky, at pink-tinged clouds. There was wonder in his face, and it was beautiful.

They stayed for longer than they should have, perhaps - Sylvain added more wood to the fire to keep them warm, and Felix fetched their food for the evening. They watched the light fade from the sea, then the sands, then the sky, and Sylvain ate his bread as slowly as he could. He didn't want this to end.

Just as he licked the remnants of meat juices off his fingers, the stars appeared, one by one. Sylvain bit his lip, considered his options, and made a decision. He leaned back on one hand, the one closer to Felix, and lifted his other to the sky. "That one's the Blue Sea Star," he said.

Felix laughed, slightly breathless from the wind. "I know that one. Tell me something I don't know, nerd."

Goddess, Sylvain would do anything to hear that laugh again and again. To hear the warmth and light in that tone. If his body wasn't so numb from the cold, he would have thought he was _dreaming,_ hearing Felix say something like that. "Alright, that one's the point of the Assal spear. The cluster next to it are Cethleann's stars, but only a few of them are out - I've seen more.

"Up there is the Fell Star. It's bigger than a lot of the rest, and it's said to be the one Sothis came to Fódlan from. There are a couple smaller stars, linked to it - fourteen, actually, named after the Elites and four of the Saints." It was a long time since he'd recited them all - it was a trick he used to pull on dates. Girls loved stars.

When Sylvain glanced over at Felix, it looked like he liked it too. Pity that after so many years, he couldn't remember them all. "Then we have the other star of Riegan, which was actually first pinpointed by someone in that house. A handful of nobles have them, actually, like the one over there, that's the King's-"

He cut himself short, looking over to Felix once more. His expression was carefully composed, and Sylvain knew he'd ruined it. Typical, really, when it was all going so well. "Sorry, I-"

Felix took in a deep breath. "Keep going," he said.

Sylvain nodded and tried to swallow his regret. "That one is the King's right hand," he said softly, "named after the Fraldarius family. The star to its left is the Blaiddyd star."

"Do you think..." Felix shook his head, a frustrated note entering his tone. "Never mind."

Sylvain so badly wanted to reach out, let his hand touch Felix's, or perhaps even put an arm around him and hold him close against the sea winds. But he didn't, couldn't- this moment was nothing about him. "Want me to name the rest?" he asked.

"Yeah." Felix's voice was a little choked, and Sylvain didn't dare look over at him a third time. "You probably have a few more names up there in your big head."

Sylvain laughed. "Sure do," he said, running through a handful more. Eventually, the knowledge ran dry - there were definitely more, sure, and he'd been able to go on for hours before if he needed to. Usually he strung together the stories he thought whichever girl he was trying to impress would find most interesting, or perhaps romantic, but a lot of that was gone now. Felix probably didn't mind.

Still, Sylvain probably wouldn't get the chance to learn them again. Out there, all the stars would have different names - if they even had names at all. They'd have different stories, and never again would he hear someone tell the story of Cichol and the parts of his daughter that he picked up when she scattered herself across the sky.

"Alright, I'm done," he said, after the second fumbled tale. "I don't remember the rest."

"Mmm," Felix said. Sylvain didn't know if he'd even been listening that hard; he wouldn't really have expected it from Felix. "They look so different, all the way up here."

"Yeah," Sylvain said, though he didn't know how much. Maybe he'd just forgotten what they looked like when he didn't spend so much time staring at the sky. "If they weren't arranged similarly, I'd think they were different stars entirely."

"Do you think they would be, if we travelled far enough?" Felix asked.

Sylvain shook his head. "I don't think that's how the sky works," he said, "though I guess we'll find out."

Felix stayed silent for a moment, and for an instant, Sylvain thought he was being ignored, that he'd overstepped some kind of line. Instead, Felix told him the opposite. "I'm looking forward to it."

Half-filled silences were a thing of the past that night; the words flowed between them in a way Sylvain hadn't experienced for many years. They talked about the sky, the stars, the world - everything, really, for long enough that Sylvain's throat went dry and achy.

In time, the sun peeked up over the horizon, and the dark sea below them started to lighten into a softer grey. They'd talked all through the night, somehow.

Sylvain blinked, exhaustion blurring his vision a little as it all caught up to him. "Oops.”

"Oops indeed," Felix echoed. A short laugh left his throat. "Maybe we should take the day off."

* * *

The days wore on, and the travelling left him wondering a little: where was he going? Where _could_ he go from here?

He made an impulse decision, and he intended to stick with it. But now that decision had him wandering beyond places marked on Fódlan's maps, moving far past the known world. Every time they woke up and watched the endless expanse of sky above them, the thought came back to him over and over again: why was he still around? How did someone live to the point that took them beyond everything they'd ever known?

"Hey Felix, do you ever wonder if we should be doing this?" he asked one day, as the two of them trotted through an unusually (but blissfully) flat stretch of land. Felix looked at him, a question in his eyes. "You know." He gestured at the land around them. "Travelling to places off Fódlan's maps. It feels like we're doing something we shouldn't."

Felix scoffed. "We killed a sort-of dragon, sort-of Saint, sort-of war hero who was centuries old. We've seen things beyond our reckoning time and time again. I'm pretty sure we're allowed to travel off the edges of a map after all of that."

It was fair enough, and an undeniably Felix perspective, but it couldn't disperse the feeling of wrongness that had settled in Sylvain's chest. Everything in his life had been working towards something else, and even when it wasn't something he wanted, there was a _purpose_ to it. But this? He didn’t know. "What do you think your purpose is in life?"

This time, Felix snorted. "If you want to talk about yourself, do it - you don't need me to answer first."

Sylvain laughed in reply. "You really never cut me a break, do you?"

"Nope," Felix said, and honestly... Sylvain appreciated it. He was an older man, now. Much older than he'd been when each day was a fresh shot at pissing even more people off. His antics back in Gautier weren't met with harsh words - only a resigned exasperation. Felix wasn't like that; he never let Sylvain get away with stuff like this.

Sylvain closed his eyes, breathed in, and let all the thoughts out. "I don't know," he admitted. "I always... felt like I was going to die before I got to this point." At that, Felix winced, but he didn't say anything. "I accomplished my life's aim before I died, before I even got _old,_ and now I'm just- here. And I don't know what to do."

A moment of silence, where the understanding that Sylvain had hoped would pass between them didn't occur. Felix blinked at him, letting the wind answer as his expression turned sour.

"That's it?" Felix asked, turning his head away to toss his still-growing hair out of his face. "All the moping and existential questions, and the reason is because you feel like there isn't a purpose to your life anymore?"

Sylvain nodded, and Felix snorted. "There doesn't have to be a purpose," he continued. "Sometimes things don't have a point, and it doesn't have to be any other way."

He didn't say any more, and it wasn't until a few hours later that Sylvain realised Felix never answered the question Sylvain posed in the first place. 

That night, Felix turned away from him to sleep. They barely spoke over dinner, and they didn't speak as the day drew to a close either. Normally, Felix wished him goodnight, at least in his own way.

Sylvain said the wrong thing. He just didn't know what it was - or how to fix it.

* * *

The coldness he'd managed to provoke in Felix didn't go away easily, either. It stuck around as they pushed on through Sreng, the terrain around them getting even more difficult to manage. The winds were sharp, whipping at their faces, and the trees pressed in ever closer. Slopes were steeper and more slippery, and their progress slowed to a crawl while simultaneously becoming twice as taxing.

It was hard. Sylvain thought he was getting better at riding consistently, thought his body was adjusting to the change in lifestyle, but this was too much. He found himself constantly flagging behind, always counting on Felix to stop and wait for him to catch up. Each time, he received a sour look, and it was only a matter of time until Felix reached his limit.

"You still can't do this?" Felix asked. Sylvain didn't answer; he was too busy trying to catch his breath. He didn't know what Felix had expected. "It's been nearly two moons and you can't do a day of riding."

Sylvain set his shoulders and tried to breathe deeply through his nose. He could barely do it, and he felt like his lungs were about to cave in. "Do we have to have this conversation again?" he asked.

Felix snorted. "You used to tell me that I should pay attention to something other than training, sometimes," he said. "When I complained that you weren't training enough."

"I know," Sylvain gritted out. He tried to remember all those conversations; they felt far more like playful banter than some of the exchanges they had these days.

"And look where we are," Felix said, twisting on his horse and gesturing at the difficult landscape around them. "All that stuff you used to fill in the gaps, all those book smarts... they won't do shit for you out here."

Sylvain huffed. "You probably shouldn't be so sure about that." If Felix was going to be such a little shit, he'd show him exactly where he could stuff his 'usefulness'.

"Fine," Felix said, spurring his horse on a little. He knew Sylvain couldn't keep up, but Sylvain got the feeling he wouldn't push his advantage all the way.

It turned out he was right - Felix stayed only a short distance ahead for the rest of the day, and when the sun finally started to dip below the horizon, he called for Sylvain to stop. That was when Sylvain had the chance to strike.

The pair of them sat in front of the firewood Felix arranged in a little heap. Felix stared at it. Sylvain leaned back a little, propping his head up against his pack and ignoring the chill in his limbs. He didn't have to do this for very long; just long enough.

It worked. Within a few minutes, Felix turned to him, frustration painted all over his face. "Aren't you going to light the fire?" he asked.

"Nope," Sylvain answered, making sure to savour the word as much as possible. He shot Felix the biggest grin he could manage. "It's all book smarts, you see, and someone once told me they wouldn't do shit for me out here."

Felix's face filled with fury. After a moment of decidedly not meeting Sylvain's eyes, he threw his hands up into the air. "Fine! Okay, you win. Happy now?"

Sylvain let out a long, bitter laugh, relishing every moment of it as he leaned in to light the fire. "No," he said. "I'm not happy. Not at all. I just want you to understand."

"Sure," Felix said, sitting forwards a little as he brought shaking hands to the fire. "You want to understand? You want to hear every ugly thought that passes through my head when I see you half dead on a horse after a day of riding?" His voice wavered a little as he spoke.

Sylvain opened his mouth to answer, but Felix wasn't going to stop; Sylvain had never known anyone capable of it. "I'm fucking exhausted," Felix hissed. "Every inch of my body is an old injury that never healed. One of my lungs doesn't work at capacity, and last year my heart stopped for more than a minute at the end of a battle. One day, I'm going to grind to a halt in a far more painful way than you. There'll be no grace in the way I age; one day I'll wake up dead. And I want you to be fit enough to withstand the wilds when that day comes."

As he rattled out that terrible certainty that had been locked up in his chest for Goddess knew how long, Felix's eyes met Sylvain's, and they were full of hurt. "Do you _understand_ now?"

On the spot like that, Sylvain had no fucking clue what to do. After decades of dodging the pointed words Felix shot out about training, survival, never being enough- Felix had avoided the full truth for so long. And with it all laid out in front of him, all Sylvain could do was what he knew best: fuck it all up. "I always thought you had more grey hairs than me."

Felix flinched away from his gaze. "How does that help at all?" he grumbled, his eyes now pointedly fixed towards the fire. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Sylvain didn't think he could bear messing this up irreparably again. Who knew how many times he'd already done it?

"It doesn't," he admitted. It didn't help, it never would, but maybe something else could. "You're right. My body's slowing down too, I can feel it. With all that time I sat at a desk reading and writing letters, no one there to pester me to stand up and stretch, let alone train..." He moved, and to illustrate his point, half the joints in his back let out a painfully satisfying crack.

Felix let out a soft, half-bitter chuckle, and Sylvain continued. "Not to mention these," he said, plucking his glasses from his face and waving them in the air. "I'm half blind without these things. It's the low light at my desk, the healer said; strained my eyes too much."

Felix let out a heavy, shuddering sigh. "You're an idiot," he said, nothing short of a world of fondness in his tone.

"I could say the same about you," Sylvain replied. Felix laughed properly this time, and Sylvain couldn't help but join in. He had no idea what they were laughing about, or if there was anything to laugh about at all, but he couldn't stop himself.

When the laughter finally faded away, it brought Sylvain only two things: a silence far less tense than any that had come before, and clarity.

He was still in love with Felix.


	3. Our Brighter Tomorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The days wear on, and Sylvain and Felix muddle through feelings that may lead to something far better than survival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for this chapter include injury and violence

From there, the pace of their travel slowed down just a little. Felix didn’t say anything, but maybe they'd reached some kind of understanding they hadn't been able to before. He didn't wake Sylvain at the ass crack of dawn, didn't enforce riding through the full day. On one occasion, he actually asked to stop first.

It was progress, Sylvain liked to think. An understanding between them that maybe, just maybe, could develop into warmth at some point.

...Maybe that one was wishful thinking, but Sylvain could dream.

So their wandering continued, day after day, as they fled something intangible and embraced the unknown. They didn't have anywhere pressing to be, and it was clear by now that there was nothing on their heels, but they moved nonetheless.

Their days played out in the same way as before, just a little shorter. They completed the same activities - sleeping, eating, hunting, travelling, taking care of the horses. It was all the same, except for one thing.

"Hey, Felix," Sylvain said. Nervousness leapt in his chest at the thought of departing from their usual script for interactions (which, at this point, involved a lot of silent understanding and the occasional comment on wildlife or landscape), but he also knew what he wanted. He couldn't sit around the whole time, knowing Felix was suffering.

Felix put down the remnants of his meal for that night and met his eyes, just for a moment. "What is it?" he asked.

"I know a bit of faith magic," he said, as if that explained anything. He inched his hands slightly closer to Felix. "You said that you..."

Felix's expression hardened. "Quiet," he said. Sylvain's heart sank, sure he'd just been refused, but then Felix moved. He shifted closer, so he was right next to Sylvain; completely within touching distance, close enough that Sylvain could feel the warmth of his body heat even more than the warmth of the fire in front of them.

Trying to bring his heart rate under control, Sylvain reached out his hands and pressed his palms into Felix's shoulders. His belief in the Goddess had long since faded, enough that his faith magic often came merely as a sputter, but Dorothea had once told him that there was no real requirement for that.

So Sylvain thought about the way Felix looked on a sunny day, when he tossed his hair out behind him and almost smiled. He thought about the way the light caught Felix's eyes and made him look like some kind of spirit descended from above. Thinking on that, and all his half-held hopes for the future, Sylvain found that summoning a heal spell to his fingertips was no problem at all.

Sylvain closed his eyes against the onslaught of information. He'd never been amazing at dealing with the knowledge of all the things the spell was trying to reach. It felt like an intrusion, even when Felix had offered himself up for this.

And holy shit did he need it. Sylvain didn't have large magic reserves, especially not after a long day, but he knew that even an experienced healer might not be able to heal the damage in Felix's muscles. He didn't have the theory to know exactly  _ what  _ he was feeling through the magic, but it was a battlefield contained within a single man.

Then again, Sylvain didn't know why he was surprised. In joining him, Felix had  _ left  _ the battlefield for the first time in nearly two decades; no wonder it had left its mark in his soul.

Sylvain did his best, letting the warmth seep from himself into Felix, trying to knit together some of the worst wounds, smooth over all the bumps in the road. There were a few little things, too: bruises from their travels, a tiny cut in his hand from too long holding the reins, and those vanished in a flash.

Felix didn't say a word as he worked. In most people, Sylvain would take that as a sign of discomfort, but in Felix he knew better. He could recognise that silence was gratitude; especially with the way that all the knots in Felix's posture unwound under his hands. It wasn't as if they'd never existed, their impression still clear to feel in the residual stiffness of his muscles, but it was something. From Felix, it was a lot.

Felix still didn't speak as Sylvain's magic reserves dwindled into nothing. Instead of withdrawing, insisting that he take the first watch and asking Sylvain to get rest while he could, Felix drew closer.

It was a slightly magical feeling, watching Felix settle almost sleepily into his side. His breathing evened out more than Sylvain had heard in a long time, and he showed no inclination towards moving either. He just stared into the fire, and Sylvain joined him. Soon enough, Felix's head settled firmly on his shoulder, his eyes closed in sleep.

Sylvain let out a soft breath he hadn't realised he was holding and tucked a strand of hair behind Felix's ear, trying to ignore the warmth that swelled out from his chest to fill every inch of his body.

He was still in love with Felix. And maybe, with everything that had happened between and around them, it wasn't wise to say it just yet. But if this was the only thing he could have, he'd be happy with it.

* * *

As they travelled on, day by day, they established a routine every time they came across civilisation. They could mostly survive just fine in the wilds, but that didn't mean it was always comfortable, and to have comfort they needed money.

To get money? Well, they were war veterans. They'd seen more battle than a lot of people who lived this far from the border with Gautier, and they had experience. Whether it was Sylvain being persuasive or Felix looking the part, people tended to trust them when they offered mercenary or hunting services for townspeople.

Their job for that day was a simple one, hunting down a disruptive mountain lion that was preying on the town's animals. In exchange, one of the town's inhabitants had agreed to reshoe their horses, better equipping them for the terrain ahead.

"You know, it's nice," the woman said, lifting the third hoof of Felix's horse. "I don't hear it so much anymore, but people used to tell me a lot that I was just in a phase of rebellion. Seeing men your age together like this... I hope you don't mind me saying it, but it's comforting."

By the time Sylvain worked out what she was getting at, Felix (with his admittedly still developing Srengi comprehension) had clearly managed to understand too. His whole body stiffened, and he turned away. Something was wrong.

Sure, okay, maybe Sylvain had assumed that their evenings, which had fast become a routine for them both, meant that there was something more going on between them. Something neither of them were willing to put into words, sure, but Sylvain was  _ positive  _ he hadn't imagined affection growing between them.

Maybe he'd been mistaken. He supposed he often was when it came to Felix.

"Thanks," Felix said, but his voice was all wrong. He  _ never  _ thanked anyone so lightly or informally; he didn't mean it, but the girl didn't know that. Sylvain did.

The girl smiled and opened her mouth to speak again. Sylvain could very quickly see it getting even worse, so he cut in. "We're not that old!" he objected.

"Sure thing," the girl replied, her tone sweet and very obviously mocking. Felix let out a short laugh through his nose, but that sounded wrong too. Like it would vanish at a moment's notice. The way Felix's hands clenched around the reins of the horse didn't lie either.

Sylvain spent the rest of their short pause at the stables at his wit's end. He kept sneaking glances at Felix, willing him to calm down just a little. He counted the money in his pack over and over, wondering if it would be worth sending Felix to book them into the local inn ahead of time. Just to get him away from this and get his mind off whatever that reaction meant.

But he didn't, and when the woman finally finished her work on the horse's shoes, Felix turned in the opposite direction, heading away from the inn they'd passed earlier. "We should leave town," he said.

"Are you sure?" Sylvain asked. "I checked, and we have the money for an inn. We could-"

"And what?" Felix asked. "We'll both stand there as they offer us a room with one bed?"

Sylvain blinked and tried not to flinch away from Felix's words. It had been known to happen, but this was the first time they'd been in a town since they got meaningfully close. Normally, he'd just laughed it off and said that no, two beds would be needed, but one room was fine.

"We can head out instead," he said eventually, once Felix's demanding stare got to be just a little too much. "I'm sure we can use the money elsewhere."

"Good," Felix said, mounting his horse and setting off at a trot, not giving Sylvain even a moment to prepare.

He stayed at that distance for the rest of the day, too, not slowing even when they struggled to hear each other's warnings over the sound of the wind. It was awkward, to put it mildly, and Sylvain  _ still  _ didn't have a single clue what to do about it. After all this time, he would have thought that maybe, just maybe, he'd work out how to deal with Felix's moods. Clearly he hadn't.

Whatever he did, he knew he absolutely couldn't talk about it. He still didn't know Felix well enough to solve this, but there was no doubt that if he tried to have a conversation, he'd say the wrong thing. Or Felix just wouldn't want to talk about it, and he'd brush him off entirely.

So Sylvain just stayed quiet. The silence stretched far wider between them than any physical distance Felix created, and it continued on well past their stopping point for the night.

Perhaps it was poor judgement, but Sylvain still called Felix over at the end of their meal, raising his hands to let Felix know his intentions. Sylvain expected only one thing: Felix would snort, shake his head, and turn away to take their first watch.

For a moment, a hard expression on his face, it looked like Felix was going to do just that. But then he inched very slowly across the ground, ending up just as close to Sylvain as he always was. Like nothing had happened at all.

And, as Sylvain let his magic flow through him and into the stiffness of Felix's abused muscles, Felix melted just as always. His shoulders relaxed, and he practically folded into Sylvain's arms, leaning heavily against him.

That, too, was where Sylvain expected it to end. Maybe Felix would realise what was happening with a jolt, or decide that this was a bad idea in the end. Maybe he'd push away, leaving Sylvain's shoulder cold. But, because this was Felix and everything he did was still unexpected after all this time, that didn't happen either.

Instead, Felix slid down his shoulder. When Sylvain caught him, he only blinked up sleepily, offering Sylvain a ghost of a smile. And then he closed his eyes, leaving his head pillowed in Sylvain's lap.

Sylvain didn't dare say a word. He didn't understand how this could even be happening - every signal, all through their long, miserable day, suggested that Felix didn't want any closeness with him. And yet now...

No. There was no use to questioning it; Sylvain hadn't imagined any of that. He couldn't be imagining Felix's head in his lap, or the way he relaxed ever further when Sylvain gently threaded his fingers through his hair.

It didn't make sense, but Sylvain wasn't going to complain. He'd take this over stony separation any day.

* * *

They kept on moving like that for weeks, moons even (though tracking the days got much harder with nothing to mark time), and nothing changed. Every night, Felix slept in Sylvain's arms, and every day they inched just slightly closer. There was a warmth shared between them that now only half-vanished when they entered a town or village; Sylvain just stayed far enough away when they were around others to prevent any comments.

It was as they rode through yet more rocky terrain in the seemingly endless Srengi mountains that disaster struck. Sylvain didn't know what happened, not exactly - all he knew was that one minute he could see, and one minute he couldn't. A moment later, a sickening crunch sounded beneath him; he had a good idea what it was.

"Wait, stop," Sylvain said, and Felix pulled on his reins immediately. "I..." He waved a hand in front of his face. "The crunch was pretty bad, I think my horse must have stepped on them, but-"

"Of course," Felix said, dismounting in a single, slightly stiff motion. Sylvain watched him squat down, looking down at the trampled snow underfoot.

When he rose again, his expression was grave. "No luck?" Sylvain asked.

Felix shook his head, lifting the object in his hand to pass it back. Sylvain grimaced as he looked at it; most of the glass was gone, and what little that remained was cracked. The wire frame, too, was bent out of shape. "There's no salvaging those," Sylvain concluded. But there was nothing really to be done, so all they could do was keep moving.

It sucked. Felix usually led when they travelled anyway, but now Sylvain couldn't even watch the ground ahead of them for rocks or icy inclines. The world shifted to a familiar blur, and he felt absolutely useless.

It went on. Try as Sylvain might, he couldn't just magic up good eyesight, and it only got more difficult as the light faded. His eyes strained against the darkness, a killer headache forming in the back of his head. When they stopped for the night, Felix left him at the fire and went to hunt; another thing Sylvain couldn't help with.

And instead of melting against him and going to sleep in barely the blink of an eye, Felix's eyes stayed alert when Sylvain soothed his scars. His expression must have been questioning, because a moment later, Felix pushed away.

"I have to stay up," he said. "You can't watch out for animals like this. They'd be on us before you could wake me."

It stung, even though there was no malice or bitterness in Felix's tone - a far cry from the way he'd treated Sylvain so many moons before. It was a small mercy, but it didn't make up for the regret that bit at Sylvain's heart. If he hadn't been so careless, this wouldn't have happened.

He slept uneasily, and Felix only woke him as light started to seep through the clouds. "I'm going to sleep for a couple of hours," Felix said. "Wake me when it's fully light, or if you can't see."

In all honesty, Sylvain still couldn't see, but Felix's eyes were bloodshot like anything, and he stretched out on his sleeping gear without a moment's notice. He was probably asleep before Sylvain could even open his mouth.

The early morning was cold, just as it always was, but it felt different now. Sylvain kept jumping at nothing, the shadows bothering him far too much. If someone  _ was  _ approaching, he wouldn't see, but with how exhausted Felix was Sylvain couldn't bring himself to wake him. Besides, it was only an hour or two before they'd be on the move again, and Sylvain didn't fancy trying to navigate with Felix on barely more than a moment of sleep.

When the dawn finally came, Sylvain let Felix rest for a little while longer. In the end it was Felix who stirred, shooting Sylvain with a bloodshot glare and a ferocious scowl when he realised the sun was up. "You didn't wake me," he said.

"I thought you needed more sleep?" Sylvain offered. Felix  _ still  _ needed more sleep, but he clearly wasn't going to get it.

"You should have woken me," Felix said. "We need to make the most of the daylight, or it'll be moons before you can see again."

"Maybe we should try and travel on the main road," Sylvain suggested. Felix twitched, but didn't reply. "If we do that, we might be able to find a large settlement where we can get these fixed. Or replaced, I guess." He'd kept the frame, and what remained was now tucked into his pack, but he didn't hold out much hope that fixing them would be possible.

Sylvain didn't know how expensive glasses would be around here, or how rare, but he didn't want to think about the alternatives. He couldn't stand the thought of Felix going largely without sleep whenever they travelled, and definitely couldn't bear the idea of being a hindrance to Felix when it was something that could so easily be fixed with the right tools.

Felix stayed silent for a few moments, probably thinking; across the clearing, Sylvain couldn't really make out the expression on his face. "Fine," he said. "If we have to. But if we meet anyone with a penchant for inane conversation, you're going to talk to them."

"It would be my pleasure," Sylvain replied with a grin.

Travelling by the main roads was a new - and decidedly different - experience. Felix's excuse early on was that, so close to Fódlan, they should stay away from the main roads and keep to side paths or even forge through the wilderness, just in case there was someone around who knew or recognised them.

This far out, there was no one. Once or twice, someone heard Felix and Sylvain's first names and recognised them as from Fódlan. Beyond that, there was absolutely nothing - no recognition, not even a surprised note that the Margrave Gautier had the same name. Maybe they didn't even know, and Sylvain couldn't bring himself to give a damn.

As such, Sylvain didn't feel too afraid on the main road. Felix was tense, but Sylvain was happy to wave to anyone who passed. There were traders and travellers, but definitely no one who meant them any harm.

A handful of days into their trek, they passed the largest group yet, and were greeted with a wave and several calls. Sylvain glanced over at Felix, who avoided his eyes and just shrugged. "Go on, if you have to," he said.

"It'd be more suspicious if we ignored them entirely," Sylvain pointed out.

Felix scoffed. "Sure. Just don't give them any money and you're fine."

It was the most Sylvain had heard out of him for a few days, but that was exactly why he wanted to go over in the first place. He loved Felix, he really did, but sometimes the tense silence grated. It would be good to hear someone else's voice.

"You're a traveller?" one of them asked, the moment Sylvain crossed the path and dismounted from his horse. Sylvain nodded. "We're performers. Any chance there are promising prospects on the road ahead?"

Sylvain chuckled. "I'm afraid I wouldn't know, we usually keep off the beaten path. Speaking of... any chance I could pester you for some directions?" he asked, shooting them all a smile. They smiled back, which was encouraging. "We're looking for a settlement large enough to have somewhere to fix glasses."

The person at the head of the group grimaced, and Sylvain's heart sank. "Probably not for a long way, I'm afraid," she said. "I hope you have a stomach for distance, because I don’t think you’d reach the next large settlement for at least a week."

Sylvain nodded, opening his mouth to reply, when a hand tapped his shoulder. "Sylvain," Felix said, practically appearing at his side. Huh, and there he thought Felix wanted to stay as far away from other people as possible. "What's going on?"

Sylvain turned to him. Felix knew a little Srengi by now, but not enough to catch everything from a distance. "I asked for directions, and it turns out we're a long way out from the next town," he explained.

Felix let out a sigh, but he definitely sounded more exasperated than fond. "You really managed to break your glasses this far from civilization?" he asked. Then he turned to the performers, speaking in slightly embarrassingly accented Srengi. "He's an idiot."

Sylvain laughed, resisting the urge to cover his face as the rest of the performers laughed with him. "I can't take you anywhere," he said. "We should probably get going, seeing as we clearly have a long way to go. Thank you for the help, and safe travels."

"And good luck and health to you and your husband!" one of them called, waving with an even brighter smile on his face. Sylvain shot one back in response. Felix didn't seem to be too bothered, so maybe he just hadn't heard; he could only hope he wouldn't ask.

No such luck. The moment the group were out of sight, Felix turned to him on his horse once more. "What did they call as they moved away?" Felix asked.

"Oh," Sylvain replied, rubbing the back of his head. "Nothing much." Felix shot him a look, and Sylvain just knew he hadn't bought it. Fair. "It was a pretty standard farewell."

"Not one I'm familiar with," Felix replied. "What does it mean?"

Sylvain laughed, but he knew Felix wasn't going to drop it at this point. "It means... well, it wishes safe travels to a married couple," he said. "People usually say it to newlyweds."

"Mmm." Sylvain had been so ready for Felix's expression to go cold, for him to forge on ahead regardless of how difficult Sylvain found it right now. What he saw instead made his thoughts stutter, just for a moment.

Felix accompanied his sound with a small smile.

* * *

When they finally arrived in the town where someone could actually point them to a shop selling glasses, they faced one final obstacle: actually getting their hands on some. From the moment they walked into the shop, the shopkeeper bustling around as she worked out what Sylvain needed, he could tell that these things wouldn't be in their price range.

"I can trade you for some," the shopkeeper said once she was done, her eyes alight, "but they don't come cheap. There's a lot of-"

"Equipment to make them, yes, we know," Felix said. Sylvain just about held himself back from putting a hand on Felix's shoulder; he wouldn't find it soothing. "Just tell us your price."

The shopkeeper looked them up and down, and Sylvain could just  _ tell  _ she was trying to work out if they had any money. "Probably more than you can afford, I'm afraid. Do you have coins, or just goods?"

"We're not traders," Sylvain explained, though with Felix's attitude she'd probably already guessed. "We're travellers. We have supplies, weapons, horses, and the clothes on our back. Not much else."

The shopkeeper made a sympathetic noise, at least, but it didn't make Sylvain feel much more confident. "Too bad," she said. "I don't think used weapons would be worth enough."

"They're well taken care of," Felix snapped.

"I'm sure they are," the woman replied, "but they won't cut it. Your partner here has ghastly eyesight - only a horse would do."

"We can't do that," Felix replied immediately. "We're travellers, we need horses."

"Then you can't have the glasses," she said simply.

Felix let out a shuddering sigh, his gaze flicking over to Sylvain. He looked stressed, and Sylvain knew he was at his wit's end, running on weeks of low sleep. They couldn't go on like this.

"It's fine," Sylvain said. "I think we can spare a horse, Fe. Mine is pretty stocky, neither of us are all that heavy, and she's young - she can take the both of us."

Felix frowned, and as Sylvain watched, a blush spread out from his cheeks all the way to his ears. In an instant, he covered his face with one arm. "Fine," he replied. "Fine, we can trade the horse for the stupid glasses."

"Fantastic!" the shopkeeper said, leaning up to stand on her tiptoes and pluck a pair from a high shelf. They looked pretty much the same as the ones Sylvain just tried on; just a little less battered. "There you go. Leave the horse, and I'll call it a pleasure to have done business with you."

"Thank you," Sylvain said, putting them on immediately. It made a world of difference, and he was already looking forward to the sleep Felix would get that night. "Come on, Fe. Time to get moving?"

"Time to get moving," Felix agreed, walking over to Sylvain's horse. He paused. "Are you getting on in the front or the back?"

"I'll go at the back," Sylvain said. "If that's alright with you?"

"I don't care," Felix said. He'd spent time on horseback with Felix before, both of them close together, and it had been... awkward.

It was also many years ago now, but Sylvain had sort of expected Felix to be tense. At the very least, he'd be annoyed that they had to trade a horse in for something as small as a pair of glasses.

But no. Felix got up on the horse after him, even letting Sylvain steady him with an arm around his waist. When they set off, their bodies were pressed tightly together, and Sylvain could feel the movement of every muscle.

Felix wasn't tense. In fact, he was pretty relaxed with his back against Sylvain's chest, Sylvain controlling every movement of the horse. They didn't say anything, and they barely even moved; the only time anything changed was when Felix pointed out something on the road or gave him directions.

They also didn't move off the main road again. Sylvain wasn't entirely sure what it meant, but maybe it pointed in the right direction.

When they slowed for the night and settled down to make camp, Sylvain didn't dare to ask Felix if he minded. As they moved through their routine for the evenings, newly resumed with Sylvain's sight, Felix stuck closer to his side than normal. Once or twice, their shoulders brushed as they ate and as they worked to set up their bedding for the night. Felix was  _ close,  _ and he wasn't getting further away.

Their evening ritual from before the glasses broke continued, too. Sylvain was almost used to watching Felix push himself away once Sylvain's faith magic ran dry, shaking the sleepiness out of his limbs and going to prop himself up against something uncomfortable to stay awake through most of the night.

Now, Felix folded against him, not even bothering to tell Sylvain that he'd fall asleep right there. He just curled in on himself slightly, hooked an arm around Sylvain's waist, and closed his eyes. It was all Sylvan could do to just keep his breathing steady enough that Felix wouldn't notice anything amiss.

The hours wore by comfortably, and Sylvain felt an emotion he could only half describe rising in his chest as he watched how peaceful Felix was against him. He didn't stir even once, and the fire crackled merrily away. There were no late night travellers, no worries of something coming to find them in the dark. Just the two of them.

When the night deepened, Sylvain shook Felix awake very gently. The peaceful look on his face  _ almost  _ made Sylvain want to kiss him awake, but he wouldn't. Couldn't, perhaps - even after all of this, the courage to ask for something more still evaded him.

Usually, when they traded watches, Felix would leave Sylvain's side almost the moment he woke up, complaining about Sylvain being too warm to stay alert. Tonight, however, he blinked up at Sylvain sleepily, brushing his hair out of his eyes as he did so. "Time for me to take over?" he asked, voice rough from sleep.

Sylvain's mouth went dry, and he nodded. "It's a few hours, but it should be light pretty soon."

Felix glanced over at the sky and nodded. Sylvain waited for him to stand, but Felix only leaned away. Then, after a pause that felt more filled with sound than silence, Felix crossed his legs and patted a space in his lap. "Go on," he said.

Sylvain blinked. His eyes flickered, for a moment, between Felix's face (still soft from sleep, a strand of hair falling back into his eyes) and his lap. He could barely believe he'd heard Felix correctly and almost pulled away, but something stopped him.

He laid down, using Felix's lap as a pillow. His breathing felt shallow in his chest, and he expected something to go horribly wrong. For a moment, when Felix's whole body stiffened, he thought it had.

And then Felix's hands found Sylvain's hair, gently carding through the strands below. Sylvain was pretty sure his heart stopped for a moment.

Everything about this was something Sylvain had never felt before. It was something he'd never even  _ imagined  _ every time he flirted with a woman or bought a drink for a pretty man in a tavern. Sure, this wasn't quite as picturesque as the ideal his parents set out for him, nor was it as happy as the alternative Sylvain dared to wish for.

It was quietly sad, imperfect through all the cracks that formed in their hearts during the war. But at the same time it was everything.

* * *

But 'everything' could shatter in a moment, and it all caught up to them the next day. Sylvain felt better rested than he had in years when he woke, even though he did so with a crick in his neck, and maybe it meant he let his guard down. Maybe Felix was distracted by the way their hands kept ‘accidentally’ brushing on the reins.

Either way, one moment everything was fine, and the next Sylvain was on the ground, pain shooting up his left leg. He'd been shot somewhere - the ankle, probably - and then the bandits leapt from the trees around them, knocking him off his horse.

A moment later, something hard hit his head. Or maybe it was just the pain setting in from when he fell; maybe he  _ did  _ hit his head. He didn't know. Everything was too confusing and didn't quite match up, a sure sign that something had gone very wrong.

Sylvain watched, through blurry vision, as the bandits drew ever closer. Each one held a vicious weapon in their hand, something that could kill him in one hit if he didn't move.

The problem was that he  _ couldn't  _ move. He'd been off the battlefield for so long that he must have forgotten, somewhere along the line, how to react when badly injured. How to attack when backed into a corner.

So he just sat there, watching as the end got ever closer. Watching, watching, until there was a flash, followed by a sound that didn't register as mortal.

Three bandits fell dead to the ground before him, and Sylvain watched as Felix pulled two swords out of two chests simultaneously. There was a wild look on his face, his eyes dark, his chest heaving. There was blood smeared across his nose, and his hair had come loose.

It was terrifying. Maybe a tiny bit hot.

Mostly, it made Sylvain's chest ache for the little boy who used to smile every time he saw him. 

That boy felt very far away now as Sylvain watched Felix dart between assailants, leaving none alive. He moved faster than Sylvain could track with blurry eyes, but all he knew was that a couple of them stood after they fell. After that, Felix stabbed each one three times. Once that was done, his eyes whipped to Sylvain, still dark and terrifying.

"Sylvain." Felix's hands were hot against his face, and Sylvain blinked, trying to get his eyes to focus. He was wearing the glasses, but it was so hard to keep his attention under control. "Sylvain."

"'m here," he said, reaching his hand out in turn. He wasn't sure what he was reaching for, but  _ Goddess  _ did everything hurt. He shuffled, attempting to sit up, but more pain stabbed through him, and something made a crunching sound. "I'm... fine."

"No you're  _ not,"  _ Felix insisted, and in that moment, Sylvain realised; Felix was kneeling at his side, his legs in the dirt as he pulled Sylvain close. "You're-" His voice was choked, and if Sylvain didn't know better, he'd think Felix was crying.

"Might have taken a hit or two," he agreed. It was probably more like five. Most of them were stab wounds, but at least three had come once he went down. Shit, he must have lost a lot of blood; that explained how groggy he felt, like everything was far away.

"Don't go anywhere," Felix said. His voice shook.

"Don't think I can," Sylvain replied, and when he attempted a laugh, he coughed. More blood splattered onto Felix's face, and Sylvain watched as his eyes went wide with something that could only be described as fear.

"Don't you dare." Felix's voice was low. It held something Sylvain really, really didn't like. "I can't- not again. Not again, Sylvain, I can't- I can't do this. If you leave me, I'll- I-"

Fuck, Felix was crying. Even as Sylvain's eyes refused to focus, he could see through blurred vision that Felix shook violently, his hands grasping desperately at Sylvain's sleeve.

If Sylvain didn't make it, something far worse than his own death would come to pass.

"I'll be fine," Sylvain croaked. "Just... let me conserve my energy, alright? I'll stick around."

Felix didn't reply, his hands still gripping far too tightly around Sylvain's arm. It hurt, but everything did. His wounds felt like the least of it; the sound of Felix's voice in that moment was just- too much to bear.

Sylvain wasn't entirely sure if Felix said anything more - or if  _ he _ said any more. Even breathing hurt, and he drifted in and out of consciousness, feeling half like he was about to burn into ashes and half like if he shivered any more violently, he'd break something.

Sometimes, oblivion was tempting. Sylvain had been close to death before, and every time he pulled himself back with a reminder of something still left undone - usually something to do with Sreng.

Now, there was none of that. But there was something else. There was Felix's hand in his, stroking his palm with unsteady fingers. There was the whisper of that sob still echoing in the wind.

There was the knowledge that Sylvain loved him, despite everything that had happened and everything they'd been through, together and apart. If he died, he'd never get the chance to love Felix ever again.

* * *

When Sylvain woke up from the broken patches of rest he managed to snatch that night, light was just starting to seep through the clouds.

Sylvain felt like shit. Initially, every time he drifted off for more than a few minutes Felix shook him awake again. It was only later on, once Sylvain's breathing evened out and his limbs strengthened enough that he could return the squeeze of Felix's hand against his that Felix let him get some rest.

"Felix?" he croaked. Felix shot upright at the sound of his voice, immediately at attention. He clearly hadn't slept, or even moved from that spot; dark shadows stained the skin under his eyes and his face and clothes were still spattered with blood.

"Sylvain," he replied instantly, his hands hovering over Sylvain's body. "Is everything alright? Does something hurt?"

Sylvain did his best not to laugh, but one squeezed out anyway. Ouch. "Everything hurts," he said. "But I'll be fine. I'm... sorry. For last night. I-"

"No," Felix replied, his voice firm. It shook, but there was so much conviction that Sylvain didn't quite know what to do with himself. "Don't apologise. Let me say something, alright?"

"Sure," Sylvain replied. He probably owed Felix that much, after the night he'd just struggled through.

Felix looked away, fidgeting with his hands. "I- you. A while ago. You asked me if I had a purpose in life."

Sylvain nodded. In all honesty, he barely remembered the specific conversation, but he could trust that it happened. "You didn't answer." He probably would have remembered if he had.

"I didn't," he agreed. "I... didn't know at the time. I had no clue. After the war, I thought that my only possible purpose could be to fight, to grow stronger, but there was no one that needed protecting anymore. It was hollow, I was going to die, and I wouldn't have even  _ cared." _

"Felix..."

"No, shut up, let me say what I want to." Felix paused for a moment and sucked in a deep breath. "Sorry. This is hard."

"I know."

"You found your purpose. And you completed it. And I realised that maybe... I must have failed in mine. I didn't manage to save him." Who 'he' was didn't need to be said. They both knew - it was always about him. "You came along with your stupid flaws and that smile and-" Felix's grip went tight around Sylvain's hand. "I sound like some girl you'd cast aside without a second thought, huh?"

"Never." Never in their lifetime. Never in a  _ million _ lifetimes would he do something like that.

Felix let out a bitter laugh. Maybe he wasn't listening, maybe he chose not to hear. Maybe thinking about it was too much. "I guess that, somewhere along the line, I got a new purpose. You stuck around, and stayed, and... I want to protect you. That's why I'm here."

"Felix, I... don't really want to be protected." He didn't want to see Felix throw himself into battle like that. He didn't want him to lose himself to the sword again just because someone was a little less invincible than Felix was satisfied with.

Felix's expression went cold. "Sylvain, you can't just- how many people have we lost? How many more do we have to lose before you take your damn life seriously and stop trying to throw it away? I nearly lost  _ myself  _ to all those damn ideas and you- I won't hear it from you. I won't."

His voice shook as he spoke, vulnerable and so, so full of fear. It wasn't even what Sylvain meant; he'd said the wrong thing again. Just like he always did.

This time, though, he was going to fix it. Sylvain summoned up all the strength he could manage into his limbs, raising a hand to cup Felix's face. Felix was already flushed from emotion, but the warmth under Sylvain's fingertips flared within an instant. "Sylvain, what-"

Sylvain took a deep breath, threw his fear to the winds that wrapped around them, and spoke the truth. "I don't want to be protected. I want to be loved."

Felix's eyes went wide. His rapid breathing stuttered, and for a single, terrible moment, he looked lost. He pushed Sylvain's hand away.

And then, not a moment later, chapped lips pressed against Sylvain's.

Felix kissed enthusiastically. He kissed like there was nothing to lose, like he'd die if he didn't throw everything into this. It made Sylvain's chest ache for air, and his lips hurt from the force of it.

It was, to put it mildly, not the most skilled kiss Sylvain had ever had. But when Felix pulled away again, eyes wild and filled with wonder, Sylvain couldn't give a damn about whether it was too rough. It was the best thing he'd ever felt. It was like coming alive again.

It was Felix, and that made it the best kiss in the world.

* * *

_ Felix vanished after the war, for a time. Years later, Sylvain hired him as a mercenary to accompany him to Sreng. When the negotiations were completed, neither returned. What happened to them next is unknown, though tales did drift back to Fódlan of a pair of travellers, practically attached at the hip, who regarded each other with love beyond measure. When those tales finally came to an end, it was said that the pair died and were buried together, their hands linked in eternal companionship - as if they had truly acknowledged that one could not live without the other. _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! :) if you enjoyed, a comment/kudos would be greatly appreciated. I also have a twitter over @samariumwriting where I talk about fic, amongst other things :D


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